


the years wore on, and changed my heart

by anistarrose



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: (more or less), Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anistarrose/pseuds/anistarrose
Summary: A Boiling Isles fairy tale about two sisters, a curse, and the demon king who did the cursing.
Relationships: Eda Clawthorne & King, Eda Clawthorne & Lilith Clawthorne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89





	the years wore on, and changed my heart

**Author's Note:**

> you ever think of a theory so unlikely yet so sad that you feel the need to write a fic about it immediately? that's basically the origin story here. you can read my thought process/flimsy evidence for this concept [here](https://anistarrose.tumblr.com/post/613699029110489088/unlikely-but-sad-theory-king-cursed-eda-and), or go into the fic unspoiled.
> 
> (oh and the title is from "East" by Sleeping at Last because boy oh boy does that song have some King vibes)

_(This is the part of the tale that a few parents still tell their children, to scare them into behaving.)_

Once upon a time, there lived two Witches. Two sisters, the same blood and same bile running through their hearts of stone. They loved each other, and protected each other, and even in their dreams of the future, they never left each other’s sides.

But the firey-orange-haired sister had a fierce and rebellious spirit, chafing against authority and conformity of any form. The dark-haired sister still loved her, of course, but love slowly turned to worry, and worry to fear — after all, there was no room in the Emperor’s Coven for someone who openly questioned the foundations of the coven system itself.

Once upon a time, there lived a mighty King of Demons. Fur as black as shadows, hypnotizing round eyes that shone like two twin moons, and a cold uncaring heart, drawn only to conquest and brutality. 

But a King is no Emperor, and despite his might and his magic, he found himself ousted. To reclaim his usurped throne, he could not simply act alone — he needed an army of ferocious servants, loyal servants, _powerful_ servants.

Once upon a time, the King spied a head of red hair questioning the Emperor’s authority. He donned a mask to approach her — a two-horned skull that fit neatly over his own head, concealing his royal identity — and invited her to meet him at a later date, for he believed they had many views about the Emperor in common. 

The naive Witch accepted his offer, and agreed to meet him on the night of the next full moon. When she told her sister about the conversation, the dark-haired Witch begged her not to go — _it’s a trap!_ _There could be agents of the Emperor waiting for you! You could be arrested — and then how will we ever be able join the Emperor’s Coven together? Please, stay home! Don’t throw your life away!_

The firey-haired witch was not swayed by her sister’s pleas, and when the night of the full moon came, she drugged her sister with an illicitly brewed potion and slipped out of their house unnoticed. The icy nighttime winds howled, as if they to were begging her to turn back, but she ventured onwards, through the forest and towards the lair of the deposed King.

The masked King cordially welcomed her inside, and invited her to sit down. He had a plan to overthrow the Emperor, he explained, but before he could trust anyone to join his rebellion, he needed to pose them a few questions:

 _Do you hate conforming?_ he asked. _Do you hate the **expectations** this world has for you?_

 _I do!_ the Witch replied. _I always have! I knew you’d understand!_

 _Would you like to be something original?_ he continued. _Something unprecedented? Something fierce and powerful and chaotic that the world has never seen before, something that’ll **shatter** all their dumb expecations of what a witch or a demon should be?_

 _Of course!_ the starry-eyed witch exclaimed. _That’s everything I want to be!_

The King smiled as he cast aside his mask, and the concentric circles within his eyes lit up one by one. _Then thank you for enlisting._

Before the skull-mask even struck the rocky ground, one of its horns breaking upon impact, the curse had been cast. Like an extinguished flame, the Witch’s orange hair turned gray in the blink of an eye. Her teeth and nails sharpened into fangs and talons, while two wings sprouted from her back, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream so loud it woke her sister from her slumber back in town.

After she fled the cave, the cursed Witch’s sister found her first, and smuggled her to the house of a friend in the Potions track who could brew an elixir and slow the curse’s progression. But for a complete cure, they would need to beseech the Emperor’s Coven themselves for help — and the cursed Witch refused, for such was the fury that she held for the Emperor. She was too proud to let any coven brand her with their magic, even if she turned into a monster without their help — and turn into a monster she did, as the years passed by.

Some say the Owl Lady still dwells in the Boiling Isles even as her curse worsens, spreading dissent against the covens by day and feeding upon unsuspecting witches by night. Do not stay out to late, young Witchling, or she will steal you away and drink your blood. 

Even more importantly, do not make trouble for your elders, or the deposed King will lure you away and curse you. Give thanks to your Emperor, for freeing us from that wretched demon’s reign of terror.

***

_(This is part of the tale that no one tells their children because the only two to ever know it were the Witch and the King, and they forgot it all as soon as it happened.)_

Once upon a time, a King cast a spell, and once upon a time, a Witch fought back. As the Witch’s hair turned gray, so did the world surrounding her. As she was plunged into the void, she did not go quietly, and she dragged the King down with her.

Surrounded by darkness, the King still laughed. With each ripple of magic reflected in his eyes, the Witch transformed further, feathers bristling and fangs elongating, but the King paid little attention to the nails at his neck transforming into talons.

 _You’re my beast now!_ he roared. _You’re going to help me regain my throne!_

The Witch drew no circles in the air, but something dark and primal ran through her transforming heart — and with it, she tapped into the foundations of the cursing spell itself. It was a rare type of magic that she performed that day, fueled just as much by spite as it was by bile.

The King had cursed her with a spark of his demonic essence. Well, she was going to _take_ it. 

She was going to take _everything_ he had, everything ferocious and bestial and intimidating about him. She was going to take everything except his orders.

 _You want to make me a demon?!_ she screamed. _Fine! I’ll make you **powerless!**_

The King realized, too late, what was happening. His body, made more of ichor and magic than of flesh, was losing its form, liquifying and reshaping within that blank gray void, and he screamed too as he lurched forward and his head collided with the head of the transforming Witch.

Upon impact, a bolt of pain split open two minds, and in an instant, the Witch and the King both forgot.

  


A mighty demon and a puny mortal walked into the deposed King’s lair that day, and a mighty demon and a puny mortal left it. Neither looked the same, nor remembered as much, as when they had entered.

The Owl Lady left first, scampering out of the cave on all fours and practically bounding into her terrified sister’s arms. She had clung to just enough of herself to hold it together, and restrain herself from lashing out at what by all means should have been her prey — but as the years passed by, her control would wane, and she would come to depend on higher and higher elixir doses to stay herself.

The deposed Demon King awakened more slowly, as the sun began to rise and turn fateful night to ordinary day. He felt tiny and out of place in this lair, dwarfed in stature by mere stalactites and startled by every shadow — but most of all, he felt confused. 

_What am I doing here? How did I get here?_

As little as he remembered, he knew that something was wrong. He was _more_ than this runt of a body, more than these cowardly instincts. He was important. He was a ruler. He was a _King_ — so where were his offerings? Where was his might? Where were his powers?

He didn’t remember how, but he knew he had been humiliated. He couldn’t be seen like this, he couldn’t be recognized. He needed to _hide_ —

Frantically pacing in tiny circles, he nearly tripped over a skull lying on the floor, one of its horns intact and the other broken. It would do nicely to hide his identity, he realized — and maybe, just maybe, strike terror in his enemies’ hearts.

For the second time in recent history and first time in recent memory, the King donned his mask. Then he set out into the surrounding forest, in search of answers and royal subjects that he would not find.

***

_(This is the tale no one tells their children because it’s only just now happened, and no one knows how the story will end.)_

Once upon a time, there lived two Witches, torn apart by a curse. They both thought themselves successful, and believed the other was throwing their life away. They still loved each other, of course, and would never wish grave harm upon each other — but oh, were they loath to admit it.

Once upon a time, there lived a puny, impish King. He loved dreaming of conquest, and of sacrifices made in his name, but most of all, he loved the gray-haired Witch who’d taken him in off the street. The Owl Lady was what they called her, and _The Owl Lady and The Demon King_ had a wonderfully ominous ring to it, after all. They made a good team, especially once the Human arrived to complete their sinister triumvirate. 

Sadly, the Witch was afflicted with a curse, and this upset the King and Human greatly. Though the King often spoke of ruling with a cold heart and iron fist, he hated seeing the Witch upset — and he’d never seen anything upset her more than her worsening curse, no matter how insistent she was that she was fine, and there was nothing to worry about.

When he took back his throne, the King decided, he would convene a royal panel of investigators to track down whoever did this to the Witch. Then he would throw them in the dungeon until they agreed to undo the curse, at which point he would allow them to do so, before throwing them back in an even darker, smellier dungeon for the rest of their natural life. 

He decided as much within an hour of learning of the curse’s existence, and informed the Human of his plan very matter-of-factly. She patted him on the head, and told him he would make a great ruler one day — but the King was more perceptive than he seemed. He sensed the doubt in the Human’s voice, and the sadness in her eyes. 

She didn’t think he could do it, and he wasn’t quite sure if he blamed her.

The King was weak, and he knew it. Even from beneath his grim mask, he could hardly inspire fear, much less inspire ferocious warriors to _listen_ to him. He was in no position to command an army of demons.

But once upon a time, while plotting revenge against an usurper his equal in size, he made a discovery: the Witch, while only half-transformed, would obey his commands with no hesitation. Knowing not of the spell-gone-awry that had tied them together a lifetime ago, the King was surprised — but the surprise stirred familiar feelings.

Confidence. Determination. _Vengeance_.

The Owl Lady was the most powerful demon the King had ever met, and at first, he feared this development was too good to be true. But a ghost of a memory had already returned to haunt him, presenting itself not as a recollection, but as an idea too tempting to resist:

He would use her to take back his playground throne — a logical first step towards world domination. It would be over quickly, and the Witch wouldn’t be hurt — she didn’t seem unhappy in this cursed form, after all — and no one would be the wiser. He would do this just to prove that he could, to prove that he was still a natural-born leader. To prove that he wasn’t as weak or as puny as he looked.

But upon reaching the playground, the Witch once again did what she did best — she rebelled. The King’s vague memory had prepared him for this possibility, and he had half-consciously resolved not to make the same mistake twice, but he hadn’t expected the backup elixir to fail him. He hadn’t expected demon hunters.

Most of all, he hadn’t expected to do the unthinkable, and abdicate his newly reclaimed throne. But the King loved the Witch more than any throne or kingdom or offerings, and deep in his heart, he knew there was no other choice he could make.

He squealed with all the rage he could muster — far more than a demon his size should’ve been able to contain. It was anger with the person who’d cursed his Witch, and it was anger with himself, for using the Witch in his own selfish scheme… and against all odds, it worked. The Witch _remembered_ — not the truth of the past, but the truth of the present.

The King was her friend. She didn’t want to hurt him.

Later that night, the Witch admitted to the King what she’d never admit to the Human — whether it was because she’d known him longer, or because he’d clearly already assumed as much, the King didn’t know. But, for whatever reason, the Witch admitted that her elixirs weren’t working anymore, and as she spoke, her confident facade cracked and split open like the King had never seen before.

He hugged her. He didn’t know what else to do. How could he feel so helpless, so powerless, yet so _guilty_?

She hugged him back, cradling him in her arms and tucking him just beneath her chin, but even that felt just wrong and undeserved. He’d schemed, and manipulated, and hurt his dearest friend — and if _this_ was what it took to be the King of Demons, then he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to be, anymore.

He told her, an admission for an admission. How he’d discovered that she would listen to his orders. How he’d been so power-hungry, and desperate for the reclaiming of his playground throne, that he’d used her. How inexcusable the whole affair had been.

 _I’m sorry, Eda,_ he sobbed. _I’m so, so sorry —_

 _I know, King,_ the Witch murmured, running her fingers through the fur on his back. _That’s why I forgive you._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for sticking with me through this crazy concept! comments and [reblogs](https://anistarrose.tumblr.com/post/613875433059008512/the-years-wore-on-and-changed-my-heart-the-owl) are welcomed as always!


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